


Saving John Watson.

by Bluebuell33



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But also a bit not good, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Whump, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, POV John Watson, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Whump, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29179860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebuell33/pseuds/Bluebuell33
Summary: It was this or his own gun.Mycroft offers John a different option to taking his own life and John jumps at the chance to take down Moriarty's webwhile hoping one of them finish the job of taking his life for him.Then everything changes.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 105
Kudos: 132





	1. It was me or him.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome and Thank you for joining me on another Johnlock Journey. This story is fully finished and I will post a chapter every other day just to add some suspense to it. ;) I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I want to thank my beta @cherieftpotter for helping me with this story! You are amazing! Also @holmesianlove for reading and giving me great feedback. <3 Thank you both!

**Chapter 1**

_ It was me or him. It was me or him. _

Over and over it ran frantically through his head as John tried to scrub the blood from his fingers. His shirt was covered with the dark red stain of his own blood as the knife wound to his side still seeped. The splatter marks across his trousers was from the other man...

_ For god’s sake, stay calm Watson…  _

John scrubbed his hands after he finished with the bandages, then slowly slid to the floor of the loo, his hands still dripping wet. Looking down, he took notice of the blood still covering his clothes. Growling deep in his throat, he yanked the shirt off first, the buttons at his cuffs flying free as he pulled at the clothes. _ He is a doctor, not a murderer.  _

_ Yet here he was... _

He sat in just his pants, arms resting on his bent knees. He couldn’t remember if he had been wearing boots or socks. He dropped his head back against the wall, letting the dull thud echo through the quiet flat. 

He was all alone and he knew it. No one was coming to help him. Sherlock was dead, that's how he got in this mess. Only Mycroft had a small idea of where he was right now.

John knew he needed to get up and collect his things, it was only a matter of time before they found him. He had hid the body but the man had powerful friends and John wasn't ready to take them on just yet. He let out a sigh at how messed up life was right now. He thought things would be different this year: Sherlock and he had made plans to holiday in the south of Spain before everything went to shit.  _ Crying over spilled milk doesn't change anything, Watson. _ Or spilled blood at this point. John moved to his knees, standing slowly, his body not wanting to move just yet. 

He cleaned the loo of any evidence before moving to the bedroom to pack. He had maybe an hour before he had to leave to make his next checkpoint. Three months of this and finally he was getting some help. Mycroft had said he would be meeting up with another agent in Poland and together they would continue taking down Moriarty's web. If only he had been able to do this before Sherlock had jumped from St. Bart. 

_ That’s enough. None of those thoughts, Watson. Get a move on.  _

He was almost finished packing when the noise outside started. He quickly laced his combat boots and shrugged on his jacket. Moving towards the window, he could hear cars pulling up and men getting out. They had found him, there was no time to lose now. John gathered what was left quickly and made his way out the back door. He hit the street below just as they breached the flat door. He hurried to reach the tube entrance before they came out the back. 

That had been too close. Another second longer and Mycroft's new agent would not have a contact to meet. John pulled his hood up as he entered the train carriage and took a seat towards the back. Head down, he checked his last messages to Mycroft confirming the meet. 

There was a flat set up for them to meet at and use during their time in Poland. After that if they decided that they worked well together then Mycroft would send them both to the next target. John wasn't sure he wanted to take on a partner, but it would be helpful to have someone to continue if John decided it was time to go see Sherlock. He was doing this to end what Moriarty had started and it seemed like a better idea then sitting in an empty flat in London and pulling the trigger himself. This way the great Captain Watson could go out in a blaze of glory or whatever crap Mycroft had said to him before convincing him to take up the mission. 

John put away his phone and leaned his head back to rest his eyes before his next station transfer. His arm rested across his body, his hand pressing the bandages on his side. Behind his closed lids all he could see was blood. His blood, Sherlock's blood, blood from the man he just killed. Red stains everywhere. The soldier in him said it was necessary but the doctor in him was yelling,  _ What are you doing?!  _ John tried to shake the images from his head but to no avail. It was part of the work. The necessary evil to bring down true evil.  _ Right?  _ John had hoped that someone would have ended this heartache for him before now. But Captain Watson was good at what he did. His self preservation was strong, it seemed, and was keeping him alive. 

John checked his watch, unable to sleep. In ten minutes, he would switch trains and continue on to Poland to meet Agent Will. He hoped this guy was a sight better than the last one Mycroft sent his way. The previous kid only lasted a week before John sent him home. What John was doing was more than most could stand. He needed a strong partner, someone willing and ready to get his hands dirty in order to right a wrong. 

John looked around the train, noticing two guys watching him closely at the other end. He wondered how he missed them up until now. He checked his watch and readied his pack. He would have to lose them before boarding the next train. He didn't need whoever they were knowing where he was going or that he was meeting up with anyone. The train slowed into the station and John prepared to bolt out. No one could say John Watson was slow. Three months of this and he was in fighting shape, which was helpful, seeing as he was fighting for his life most days. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John used the key that Mycroft had left him for the flat, entering just before dawn. The rooms were quiet and empty, no sign of Agent Will yet. John threw his pack on a bed and opened the envelope that held information from Mycroft about the next target. His phone began to beep next to him. A call, not a text. Lifting the phone, he checked the number and found Mycroft calling. 

"Hello," he answered. 

"John, has Agent Will arrived yet?" Mycroft asked. 

"Nope, just arrived myself. Should he be here soon?" John stood to rummage through the fridge for something to eat. 

"I believe so. We lost contact with him outside of Germany and hope that he just shows, otherwise..." Mycroft grew quiet. 

"Otherwise? He may be captured?" John filled in. 

"The likelihood is high. If that is the case, then I will need you to go in and find him, John. He is vital." Mycroft paused. 

"And I'm what? Expendable?" John chuckled at his own joke.  _ Of course he was _ . He was here instead of home putting a bullet in his own head. Here until he finished the job or someone finished him. 

"John, if Agent Will doesn't show by tomorrow night, contact me and we will begin tracing backwards to find him." 

"If he is so important, why wait until tomorrow? Start looking now, I say." John started the kettle as he pulled a few items from the fridge. 

"There is still a chance that he has gone dark in order to travel faster. His next check in would be at the flat with you. Keep me posted and rest, if he is caught you will need your strength." 

"Getting soft on me, Mycroft?" John chuckled again. 

"Your loss would weigh heavily on me, John. Remember that." With that Mycroft hung up the phone, leaving John staring at his. 

_ What was he supposed to do with that?  _ He had thought that Mycroft was just using him to right a wrong. A waste of talent sitting on the sofa in 221B, or that is how Mycroft made it seem when he approached John with the idea of going after Moriarty's web. He had said they had a man on the ground already but he was in need of back up. Three months in and John was just now going to meet the man or go rescue him. John fixed himself tea and a sandwich before returning to the table to read over the packet. 

It seemed the new target was in Serbia, a Major Moran. From the papers Mycroft sent, Moran seemed like a real piece of work. John looked for a photograph of the man and found none. 

His code name was ghost and John was beginning to see why. There was very little on Moran. It said that he was Moriarty's right hand in the web and was the reason that it hadn't collapsed on itself after Jim died. 

John sighed, dropping the papers on the table. He finished eating before moving to the window with his tea to light a cigarette. All the trouble he gave Sherlock for smoking and here he was. He drew a lung full of smoke in, pausing before releasing it. 

" _ Don't you always tell me those things will kill me one day," Sherlock teased as he appeared in front of John, sitting with his belstaff wrapped around him.  _

John chuckled. "What's the difference if these kill me or Moran's men kill me or I pull the trigger myself?" 

_ Sherlock huffed. "Still keeping the back up plan?"  _

"Yup," John popped the P in the most Sherlock way he could, causing the both of them to laugh. John brought the cigarette back to his lips as he watched Sherlock. "I miss you," he whispered. "Just have to finish this job then I will join you." 

_ "John... Your loss would weigh heavily on me." Sherlock looked sad.  _

"Damn it Mycroft, getting in my head," John growled, shaking his head. Sherlock would never say that to him. 

_ Sherlock stood, moving towards the bed. "Same as you never thought Mycroft would say it to you." _

"That's the only reason you said it," John gruffed, finishing his cigarette and closing the window. 

_ "Come lay down, John," Sherlock called from the bed.  _

John sighed. He had started seeing Sherlock in his mind since the first time he thought about taking his own life. After that it felt natural for Sherlock to show up when he was lonely or thinking. It had now become common practice for Sherlock to lay down with him until he fell asleep. His mind was supplying what his heart ached for. He could never have this no matter how much he longed for it. Sherlock was dead and John was alone. 


	2. Moran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to chapter 2! So happy that everyone is loving the story so far. <3 I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. I love John in this story with his sarcasm and his mind Sherlock. <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John woke up later to an empty room again. The new agent hadn’t arrived yet. John made his way to the loo, taking a piss, brushing his teeth and dressing for the day. After a small breakfast and a cigarette, he checked his phone for new messages. Nothing new from Mycroft either. John decided to study the packet on Moran again while he cleaned his guns. Reading it front to back several times, John learned everything he could. Putting his guns away, John turned on the telly for a while. He was starting to go mad at all the waiting. _Where was this guy?_

At that his cell began to ring. _Mycroft._

"Yes?" John answered. "Where is he?" 

"He was last seen at the train station in Germany. From what was discovered by the police there, he was taken shortly after boarding the train, though the how is still being determined." Mycroft paused. "John, we will need you to find him." 

"How and where do I start?" John moved around the room packing as Mycroft continued. 

"It is most likely that he has been discovered and taken by Moran. I should think starting there would be next." 

"I thought you said the Moran job was going to take two people? My Serbian is a bit rusty." John cursed his lack of knowledge with the language. _What if he couldn't find the guy?_ "What if I can't find him?" 

"You must. This is a priority, John. This agent must be recovered at all costs. The nation is depending on you and I am counting on you." Mycroft grew quiet. 

"Yeah, alright. I will check in once I reach Serbia." John hung up before Mycroft could continue on about how Agent Will was more important and less expendable then he was. _Well, the game is on._

_"Yes it is." Sherlock smiled from a chair near John. "Shall we go?" He stood, moving towards the door._

"If only you were here. I could use your brain right now." John sighed, finishing his packing. 

_"Only my brain, John?" Sherlock scoffed._

"No, not only your brain, git. If you were really here, I would..." John paused, thinking about things he would do if Sherlock was really there with him. Like pull him close and kiss him until everything else falls away. Until it was just the two of them... "Never mind, let’s go." John shouldered his pack. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John made only one stop on his way to Serbia and that was to change his appearance. Dark brown hair, almost black and contact lenses that made his eyes green instead of blue. Mycroft had supplied what he needed in a safe house just outside Serbia. John stowed most of his gear here, taking only what he really needed moving forward. He would come back when he found Will or if he needed to regroup. 

The base where Mycroft was almost certain they were keeping the agent was only a half an hour drive from the house. 

John made his way there under the cover of darkness. He had no idea what Will looked like. Mycroft had not been helpful, just saying, _You will know when you find him_. Leave it to Mycroft to be completely unhelpful right now. John found the compound easy enough but as he watched from afar, he realised entering would be another matter. 

There were guards on each of the outer walls and two at the gate. He could only imagine how many were on the inside. Just as John had decided to return to the safe house and contact Mycroft, a delivery truck slowly made its way up the road. John didn't waste any time before dashing out of his cover and into the back of the truck. Not his smartest plan but it would get him inside. 

He remained hidden as the truck came to a stop. Thankfully the driver was more interested in chatting then his delivery and John was able to disembark from the truck unnoticed. The inside of the compound was fairly simple. In the center was a square brick building that stood two stories tall. There were garages around the outer wall to the north and several sheds to the west side. John started with the garages, finding no agents being held, but he did find a guard that he was able to silence and take his gear. Now, able to blend in, John could move through the compound easily with no one paying any mind to him. He headed for the large main building in search of Will. 

He hoped that there was only one captive here otherwise Mycroft's words that he would know Will when he found him would be moot. As he entered the brick building another guard questioned his purpose and where he was headed. John quickly focused on remembering his Serbian and responded that he was headed for duty over the captive. The man gave him a hard stare before stepping out of his way. John hoped the relief didn't show on his face as he continued in the direction the guard had nodded towards. He followed the hallway until he reached a guard standing outside a door. _This had to be the place._

"I'm here to relieve you," John said, using his best captain voice on the man. 

The man nodded before heading in the direction John had come from. John waited outside the door for several minutes to make sure no one was coming back before grabbing the key and letting himself in the door. Tied to a chair with his head lolled to one side was a dark curly haired man. John's heart stopped beating. _Sherlock? It couldn't be... Sherlock was dead, John had watched him jump from the top of St Bart..._

John moved quickly to the man's side, kneeling down he lifted the man's face only to find the features didn't fit. The cheekbones and nose were all wrong, but from a distance that man could have been Sherlock. _Is this Agent Will? Is that why Mycroft had said that John would know him when he saw him? But why? Why would Mycroft have John work with a man that would remind him of Sherlock the whole time? That is cruel even for Mycroft._

John patted the man's cheek. "Hey, you awake? Will? Are you Agent Will?" 

The man let out a grunt, barely waking. John took that as a confirmation, pulling his knife out and cutting Will's ties. The man slumped forward as he was freed. John lifted him carefully. "Come on, mate. I need to get you out of here somehow." 

John helped the man towards the door, hoping the hallway was still clear. He slowly cracked open the door, peeking out before pushing it open fully and wrapping the man's arm around his neck. They made their way down the hall towards what John hoped was the back door. 

"Well, well. What do we have here?" The voice sent chills down John's back. "Going somewhere, soldier?" 

John turned towards the voice behind him to see a large man standing ten feet away. The man was well over 186 cm and was clearly military. John knew there was no way to grab his gun and keep holding Will up. Mycroft was going to kill him if this man didn't get the job done first. 

"Will, I need you to run," John whispered, easing the man's arm from around his neck, all the while never removing his eyes from the soldier in front of him. "I was taking him to see Moran per his order," John replied to the man, keeping his voice even.

"Oh really, well in that case you have delivered him." Moran chuckled, his eyes dark and humorless. "Vlado, what was he saying to you?" 

John glanced out the corner of his eye to see the man next to him grinning. 

"He kept calling me Will, boss. You were right." Vlado moved away from John to stand next to Moran. He waved John's own gun at him. He must have grabbed it when John was removing his arm from helping him. 

John was royally fucked now. There was no amount of talking that would get him free. He grit his teeth together as he watched the two men enjoying his failure. "Are you two quite finished?" John asked, pulling a cigarette free from his pocket. "Don't mind do you?" He lit it, taking the first draw of smoke. "So what happens now? You shoot me and we can all move on with our day?" John brought the cigarette back to his lips as he watched Moran staring at him. 

"Is that what you think, Dr Watson?" Moran moved towards him as John continued to smoke. "You think I am just going to shoot you and be done? That won't draw him out. I need you as bait if I'm going to catch the great Agent Will." Moran had a smile like a tiger waiting to kill his prey slowly. 

"Well good luck with that, seeing how I don't know the man and he isn't likely to come looking for me. We may have a long wait." John felt more at ease then he had in months. Standing in front of Moriarty's right hand, smoking a cigarette, waiting to die. 

"I think he will come for you. Mycroft won't let Dr. Watson die, not after losing his brother." Moran sneered. 

John laughed. "That's a joke. Mycroft cares nothing for me. To Holmes I am expendable." He dropped the cigarette butt to the ground putting it out with his boot. "So let's get on with the dying part, shall we?" 

"I don't think so. Vlado, put him in your cell and secure the compound." Moran gave John one more look before walking away. 

Vlado moved towards him, the gun aimed at John's heart. "Let's go, doc." Vlado waved the gun towards the door he and John had just left. 

John eyed the man, figuring he could take him, if he could just distract him for a moment. Shifting towards the door, Vlado seemed to read John's thoughts and came to the same idea. 

He quickly radioed for back up, just as John lashed out. The two of them tumbled to the floor, fighting for John's gun. He could hear boots running towards them, he knew he only had seconds before backup arrived, but Vlado was fighting him hard. John gripped the gun tightly, close to getting it out of Vlado's hands when there was a crack and everything went dark. 

Sometime later John woke up tied to the same chair he had helped Vlado out of. He swore, testing the ropes at his hands and feet. _Great_. Not what he had planned. Now he would have to wait to see what Moran had in mind or for Mycroft to notice he was gone or for some way to escape. John let out a sigh. He could really use a cigarette right now. 

He looked around the small room, finding it bare aside from a camera watching his every move in the right corner. He gave it a _fuck you_ smile before resting his head back. _Whoever hit him got him good at the base of his skull. That would hurt for a while. Now he had some time on his hands. The question was how much?_


	3. The Rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading along, I know it's not always easy with me due to my angst and love for cliffhangers, but I want to say thank you for that and for your comments. They make my day. <3 Enjoy this next chapter. <3

**Chapter 3**

John woke again later to another small room, only this time he was no longer tied to a chair. He found himself chained to a bed instead. It was set up like a prison cell only it had a door and no windows instead of bars. His combat gear, boots and socks had been removed, leaving him with his pants, trousers and vest.

He was unsure of the time of day or how long he had been out at this point. Mycroft wasn't expecting a call from him for a few days and who knew where Agent Will was or if he was even alive. Though Moran had made it sound like he was. He seemed to think the man was quite deadly if they were setting such a trap for him. John wasn't sure if Will would even know where to find him unless he talked to Mycroft.  _ But would Mycroft risk the agent for just John? Most likely not.  _

John drifted in and out of sleep for days, no one came round except the man that brought him a ration of water and food each day. First there were three meals a day, then two, then one. John tried to keep track of the days by the meals, if they could be called meals – mostly they consisted of water and bread. John realized they were slowly starving him to make him easier to handle, but they never asked him questions or what he was doing there. 

After his first attempt to get free by overpowering the guard, no one came inside the room to give him a second chance. John spent his days waiting for a chance and his next meal. With the guards being under instructions not to go near him, he was never going to get free at this point. Moran must know John better than he thought. 

He had checked the room and found no sharp objects to help him with the chains, and even if he got free, there was no way out the door. Days came and went, John was beginning to think everyone had forgotten about him. By his rough guess it had been three weeks since he was taken. Still no Mycroft or Agent Will. John had decided that no one was coming for him. As the meals started to dwindle to one a day, John decided there was no point and started refusing the food. 

The guards noticed but said nothing to him. They still dropped off the one meal, but the portions were smaller each time. John huffed a laugh and curled up on the bed. In the past three weeks, Sherlock had stayed by his side, his constant companion. They chatted about Baker Street and cases they had solved. John wished he could reach out and touch the man, but knowing that he would only grab air and shatter his dream kept him from doing so. Sherlock was gentle and soft in his mind, unlike the man himself. 

John sighed as his stomach rumbled. This was day six of no food, they had stopped altogether. Sherlock watched him from the end of the bed. 

" _ You should have eaten when you could, John."  _

"Doesn't matter anymore," John huffed. "At this rate I will be out of here in a week or so. My-my only regret will be you.." 

" _ Me?"  _

John closed his eyes, unable to look at the man sitting near him. "Yes, you. I regret that I never acted on my feelings for you. That I was never brave enough to tell you that I cared for you while you were alive." 

_ "You know I don't do sentiment, John."  _

"I know. That's what held me back. You never needed anyone. You didn't need me, I was just there, an easy choice. I lost you and fell apart. If it had been the other way, you would barely have noticed." John felt a tear slide down his cheek. The truth hurt more than he thought it would. If he was the one to die instead of Sherlock, it wouldn't have fazed Sherlock at all. Oh sure, he would need a new assistant, but that would be it. Just someone new to get his tea and hand him a pen.  _ Anyone could do that. He didn't need John for that.  _ That is why John couldn’t talk him off the roof or stop him from jumping that day. Because he didn't care about John. 

Here John was six months later, barely living without a man that wouldn't have noticed it if it was John or Mrs Hudson that brought him the tea each time. John wished that Sherlock had cared for him like the Sherlock in his mind did. Mind Sherlock was caring and thoughtful, always gentle with John, but that's because it was John’s creation.  _ None of it was real. _

"Food time!" came a shout from the door. 

John didn't bother to move: that had to be wrong, they stopped bringing food days ago. John didn't even lift his head at the voice. He was already feeling weaker from the lack of eating. The silent tears still slid down his cheeks. The guard didn't shut the food window right away. John could tell the man was still standing there watching him. He let himself drift off to sleep instead. 

The next time the window opened it was the same voice telling him to wake up. John refused to open his eyes again. He was mid-dream with Sherlock laying beside him, he couldn't be bothered with the guard. Then there was a key in the lock and John's ears perked up. This was new. It had been over four weeks now since they had unlocked the door. 

John made no move, just slightly opening his eyes to see the man enter the room. He wore all black and had short bleach blonde hair. His dark blue eyes watched John sharply. 

"We need to go," the man said as he came closer to John. 

John didn't respond. He wasn't sure if he could even take the man at this point with his body so weak. He just laid there watching the man speak to him. 

"Watson, we need to get you out of here." The man was beside him now. 

John took a stab in the dark. "Will?" his voice was weak and came out a whisper over cracked lips. 

The man hesitated before replying. "Yes, we need to get you out of here." Will knelt next to the bed. "Can you walk?" 

"Don't think so. Haven't eaten in over a week." John tried to sit up with Will's help and failed. 

"Here, I've got you." Will picked him up, carrying him out the door. 

John held on, hating that Will was carrying him and he was unable to walk himself. He noticed as they reached the front door that there was no one else in the building. Outside there was a black car parked, waiting for them. Will helped him into the passenger seat then walked around to slide behind the wheel. John watched him as well as he could in his half alive state. 

"Why did you come for me? Mycroft said you were not to be risked. I was supposed to rescue you here. Thought you were captured." John was having trouble keeping his eyes open as they tore off down the road. 

"Damn Mycroft. He knew better." Will growled beside him. "Never should have sent you in there. You have no business being here." 

"It was this mission or a bullet from my own gun." John whispered as the lights went out and he fell asleep. 

He thought he heard Will cursing Mycroft some more as he drove. John wondered where they were going and if he would wake up again. 


	4. Agent Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mayday! Mayday! Bucket up!
> 
> What is wrong with me? Why do I love the angst so much. lol

**Chapter 4**

John woke slowly, his body aching. There was a different smell in the air. Not the smell of brick walls and concrete floors that he was used to. No, this was something else.  _ Had he finally died and was now waking up in the great beyond? Is this what heaven smelled like? _ There was a floral scent and a softness to the sheets wrapped around him. Anything was better than the hell he had been living in for the past month or so. John slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness around him. There was sunshine coming through the window across the room. Blinking rapidly, John realized he recognized the room. It was the safe house he had left his pack in before heading to the compound.  _ How did he get back here? _ There were holes in his memory. He remembered being captured and held without food for some time. 

_ But then what? _ There was noise coming from outside the room. Someone was in the house with him...  _ Mycroft? _ No, it had been Will. The lost agent he was supposed to rescue and ended up being bait for. John struggled to sit up in the bed, but his body was still weak from the lack of food. On the nightstand there were crackers and a bottle of water. John reached for them, only to have his hand unable to grip, knocking them to the floor instead. He let out a curse as he lay there staring at them on the floor. He had no way to reach them now. 

The door behind him opened at the sound of the bottle hitting the floor. Will entered, coming around the bed. 

"Ah, you are awake." He reached down to pick up the water and crackers, placing them next to John on the bed. He stood with the sun behind him, making it hard for John to see his face. The blond hair he could see was short but curly at the end. 

"Thanks mate," John tried to lift the bottle to his lips but couldn't open the top. 

"Here," Will opened the bottle, sitting beside John on the bed, he lifted John's head so he could sip the water. "Not too much, just a little," came Will's soft baritone. 

John froze at the realization he knew that voice, but he couldn't. That voice jumped off St. Bart’s almost six months ago. "Sherlock?" his voice croaked from disuse. 

"Yes, John?" Will replied, removing his hand from behind John's head and standing. He crossed the room to the window, drawing the curtains closed. "Is that better?" 

John blinked at the sudden dark but he could see better now. "Yeah. But how can it be? I buried you months ago?" A sob left his mouth very much against his will.  _ How was Sherlock standing in front of him with dark blue eyes and blond hair, but most of all alive... _

"I can't explain right now. We need to get some food in you." Sherlock walked from the room, only to return with a bowl of broth. "Here, try this." Sherlock sat beside him again, setting the bowl down to help John shift up on the pillows to eat. He picked up the bowl, placing it in John's lap with a spoon. "Try to eat some. You need it. Then we can talk." 

John held the spoon as best as he could, trying to scoop the broth. After three attempts, he let out a frustrated growl, dropping the spoon into the bowl. 

Sherlock watched him closely before picking up the spoon. "Will you allow me?" He brought a spoonful to John's lips. 

John eyed it for a minute, hating how weak this made him look, but his hunger won out in the end and he sipped from the spoon. Sherlock refilled and brought it to his lips again. John made it through this four times before he shook his head, sliding back down in the bed. 

"John, you need to eat." 

John shook his head, closing his eyes, curling up as tight as he could. It was too much to take in. Sherlock being alive and here. Mycroft had to have known and yet he said nothing.  _ Was that why he had said John would know Agent Will when he saw him _ ? He had sent John over here to help Sherlock without telling him it was Sherlock he was helping.  _ Why? Why couldn't John know? _

"John?" Sherlock whispered, his hand coming to rest on John's shoulder. "You need to eat. We can't stay here long and you are too weak to move right now." 

"Why?" John asked quietly.

"Because they may come looking for us," Sherlock started. 

"No," John stopped him. "Why did you lie? Why did Mycroft not say anything? How are you here and why are you here? You should have just let me die." John choked out a sob as he cried dry tears, his body having nothing left to give. 

"John, I couldn't say anything. You were all at risk. It had to be a secret. You were not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be back in London, safe." Sherlock gripped John's shoulder as he spoke. 

John squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He wanted to reach out and pull Sherlock into his arms. He was here and alive but all John could do was cry. All the times he had almost killed himself in the past six months were for what? For a man that had been alive the whole time. What a joke it must have been for Mycroft, watching the pathetic display of John Watson falling apart over a man that wasn't really dead. 

"John? Please eat," Sherlock asked again. 

John wanted to shove him away, yell and scream at him, but also hold him tight and never let go. "You should have just left me there." 

"I couldn't do that." Sherlock whispered, as a shaky hand brushed through John's hair. 

"Why not? You already did it once. You could have let Moran finish it and then you would be rid of me. No longer brought down by the weak weight of John Watson, the laughing stock of Holmes brothers." John reached up, removing Sherlock's hand from his head to hold it instead. 

"John?" Sherlock sounded sad. 

"Please just..." John let out another sob. "Please, I know I am expendable but just this once could you not leave me. Please?" John squeezed Sherlock's hand tightly. His emotions were on a rampage of highs and lows. 

"Okay." 

John could feel Sherlock ease down so he was laying on the bed next to John, his arms sliding around John, pulling him close. John cried at the feel of Sherlock wrapped around him. Never had he thought he would feel this with Sherlock. He never wanted it to end. He curled his fingers into Sherlock's shirt, holding on for dear life. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John knew before opening his eyes that Sherlock was no longer in the room with him. It was like the air had been sucked from the room and replaced with an older, less caring Holmes. Mycroft sat in a chair by the window, quietly texting on his phone. 

"Ah John, welcome back. There is more broth on the nightstand." Mycroft pointed in case John didn't already know where the nightstand was. 

John closed his eyes again, not moving. "Is he gone?" 

"Yes." 

"Why and where?" 

"He is finishing the mission. Moran is still on the loose, all thanks to you and now we have no idea where he is hiding." Mycroft sounded angry yet bored at the same time. John didn't know how he managed it. 

"You sent me into an armed compound alone and expected me to  _ what?  _ Kill Moran and just walk out the front door?" John's eyes flew open as he growled, trying to push himself up to sitting. "You sent me in knowing fully my chances of getting out were little to none." 

"Really, John? You are not strong enough to do anything right now. Have some broth and then we must be going. Will you be able to walk or will you need to be carried out?" Mycroft stood, moving towards the door. 

John was done with the Holmes brothers.  _ Why did Sherlock just leave after saying he wouldn't?  _ He struggled to the edge of the bed to sit up, looking around for his pack. 

"It's in the car. Shall we?" Mycroft looked towards the door. 

John dug deep for any strength left in his body and slowly stood up. "Where are we going?" 

"Home." 

"No." John shook his head. 

"No? Where exactly would you like to go, John?" Mycroft smirked. 

"Where he is.." John moved towards the door and Mycroft slowly. 

"No. You are no good to him now. You will go home. You have served your purpose here. You are just a liability now. Unfortunately my brother must do this on his own until I can arrange for another agent to join him." Mycroft checked his phone again. 

"Another agent?" John whispered, stumbling a bit, he reached out to grab the door jam. 

"Yes, someone to do what you were supposed to do. Do keep up, John. Now, we have a plane to catch." Mycroft turned and walked out the front door.

John followed slowly, determined to get there on his own steam. Damn Mycroft and damn Sherlock for that matter. They could all go to hell. 


	5. Scotland.

**Chapter 5**

Five months later, John stepped out the front door of his small cottage in southern Scotland. He held his tea cup tightly as he stood, enjoying the sun rising to the east. Four months and three weeks since he walked out of the hospital in London, going straight to Baker Street to pack everything he owned. Mycroft had showed up asking where he planned to go. There was something in his tone, it was just like they were back at the safe house in Serbia. John had quickly chinned Mycroft with great satisfaction before moving his few things from the flat. 

Mycroft had asked again, saying it was for Sherlock, making John want to hit him again. Instead he shouted that Sherlock didn't care where he was going and that they could both bloody fuck off. That was the last he had seen of Mycroft and it had been nice. 

John took a deep breath of the fresh air. He was still not back to what he had been. Not eating for so long took a lot out of him, but he no longer felt the urge to kill himself. He had his cottage and worked at the local clinic. It was quiet and good. After all the time he spent grieving Sherlock, trying to end his life and then the months he spent killing in Sherlock's name had left a bad taste in his mouth. He wanted to live and find other things that made him happy. 

He didn't need a Holmes around to give him that anymore. He had pushed past his sad crush for a man who would never feel the same. After seeing Sherlock alive, the beautiful Sherlock in his mind had disappeared. John missed that Sherlock more than anything. He huffed a laugh at himself, finishing his tea. He had things to get to today: first was the shopping then he planned to begin work on the garden. Spring was finally here and he had made a few plans for the back garden. 

_ First the shopping. _ John went back inside to clean his cup and grab his coat. Mrs Hansen's store was just a few miles down the road and normally John walked when he only needed a few things, but today he drove as the forecast had called for rain. He parked in front of the store, glad to see it was a quiet day with only a few cars out front. As he walked up to the front door, he noticed a box near the door that had a sign reading free kittens. John couldn't help stopping to look in the box. Three kittens looked up at him, meowing and crawling up the edges. 

John reached down to pet them for a few minutes. Maybe his cottage needed a small bundle of fur running around... He picked up a small gray one, holding it to his chest. 

"What do you think, little fella, want to come home with me?" John rubbed the kitten under its chin. The kitten started to purr and fall asleep in his palm. 

"Oh John, I think she likes you." Mrs Hansen poked her head out the front door of her shop. 

"Ah, yeah, looks like it." John smiled down at the kitten that was now fully asleep, curled up against him. "Do you mind if I carry her while I shop?" 

"Not at all, dear." Mrs Hansen smiled softly at him. 

This is how John came to have a kitten named Daisy. A lovely name, Mrs Hansen had said. John drove back carefully with his shopping and Daisy still curled up sleeping in his hand.

Once they were home, John took to setting up everything Daisy would need. She followed him around the house, meowing at each new thing. They spent the afternoon working outside in the garden. Daisy chased things around and John dug in the dirt. After dinner they curled up together on the sofa and watched a film. Daisy had moved her way from his chest to curl around his neck while he laid on the sofa. 

This was what he needed. A purpose and someone to care for. John was more content then he had been in a long time. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three weeks later, Daisy was brushing around John's leg as he dressed for his date. Jacob had asked him out after they had bumped into each other at Mrs Hansen's. He was funny and soft spoken. Best of all his red hair, green eyes and glasses didn't remind John of Sherlock at all.  _ This was a first step: the get out of the house and stop longing for someone you would never have step.  _ John sighed, running his fingers through the front of his hair. He should just cancel and watch telly with Daisy instead. 

_ No, John, you are doing this. It's been six months since you have seen Sherlock or heard anything about him. He has surely moved on and has no need for you or he would have found you by now. Time for you to do the same. It's just a date, you don't have to marry the guy. Just a few drinks and some food at the pub. You can do this. You...can...do...this...  _

The knock at his door startled him out of his mind. One last check in the mirror before he hurried to the front door. He paused for one minute to steady his breathing before bringing up a smile and opening the door. Only it wasn't Jacob at the door, it was Mycroft. 

The smile slid from his face. "Mycroft, I thought I said I never wanted to see you again," John growled out, moving to close his door. 

Mycroft placed his foot in the way. "I know what you said, John, and I had fully intended on keeping that promise, but we had nowhere else." 

John paused. "What do you mean  _ we _ had nowhere else?" His eyes searched over Mycroft's face to see worry there. Mycroft never worried about anything. 

"Can we come in?" Mycroft asked, looking over his shoulder to the black car behind him. 

"I guess, but I'm still not sure I want to see you." John pulled his door open to allow Mycroft and whatever lackey was with him in. 

Mycroft nodded towards the car and the front door opened, revealing a driver who walked to the back door to help someone out. John watched as the driver carried another man up to his front door. As they passed in front of him, John's heart stopped. Sherlock. Though he was barely recognizable from the bruises and blood covering his face and clothes. 

John quickly shut his door and directed the driver to his spare room upstairs, where they laid Sherlock down. John removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up, turning towards Mycroft.

"Mind telling me what the hell is going on here, Mycroft?! What happened and why you are here?" He moved to the ensuite for flannels and water. 

"It went wrong, it all went wrong. They were everywhere, he was supposed to be safe. But they found him." Mycroft stood at the end of the bed, staring at Sherlock with a ghostly look on his face. 

John was in full doctor mode when he stepped back into the room. "Mycroft, I need you to go downstairs and start the kettle. Find something for him to eat just in case. And you," John looked at the driver. 

"Benson, sir," the driver replied. 

"Benson, I need you to retrieve my med kit from my ensuite and bring it here. Hurry." John moved to the bed, set down the water and started to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. Mycroft let out a pained sound at the marks on Sherlock's chest. 

"Mycroft? Mycroft?!" John barked the man's name to get his attention. "The kettle, Mycroft. I will take care of him and then I want the full story." 

"Yes. Alright." Mycroft slowly left the room, pausing at the door to look at John. "Thank you for saying yes." Then he was gone. 

John sighed, continuing on with his work as Benson returned. "Sherlock, what have you gotten into and what happened to you?" The man didn't reply. From what John could see, he wasn't conscious at all.


	6. It's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy that you are all loving this story. I love the comments I receive after each chapter. Only 3 more chapters left after this!

**Chapter 6**

John woke to a cry from Sherlock. Rubbing his eyes, he checked the time. Half past three in the morning. He reached a hand to check the fever that was raging in Sherlock. Still hot to the touch. John brushed back the damp curls on Sherlock's forehead. His face was showing pain in his fever dream. John rang out a cold flannel to replace the now warm one on Sherlock's forehead. He wished there was more he could do at this time. He put Mycroft up in his bed and Benson on the sofa downstairs a few hours earlier. Mycroft had fought the suggestion but John could see he was dead on his feet and was finally able to convince him to sleep a bit, promising to wake him if anything changed with Sherlock. 

Now, John thought over the conversation between him and Mycroft about what had happened. Most Mycroft wouldn't tell him, but from what he got, Sherlock had been attacked and left for dead. After Mycroft had rescued him and brought him to London for recovery, he was attacked again in the hospital. Mycroft trusted no one right now and saw no other solution than to hide him at John's since John was also a doctor. John guessed he should be flattered that Mycroft trusted him with Sherlock's life even after they had both turned their backs on him. 

Once Sherlock was healed and he and Mycroft returned to London, John would once more be left to live his quiet life. He had felt bad for cancelling his date with Jacob tonight, but the man had understood that John had not expected "family" to arrive unannounced for a visit. They had made plans to talk in a week or so. He had avoided Mycroft's raised eyebrow when he had stepped in the lounge, overhearing John's conversation. 

Once more Sherlock whimpered in his sleep, twitching a bit in a restless fit. John held his wrist, counting heartbeats for a while, bringing some comfort that Sherlock was alive. Just when John was trying to get over the man, he had to show up in such a way. Though John was sure Sherlock would be angry when he woke to find that John was here, it is what it is. John could only hope that when Sherlock left this time, he would at least say goodbye and give John some closure, so he would be able to really move forward with his life. 

"Meow." Daisy appeared at his feet, winding her way around his legs. 

"Hey darlin’, can't sleep either?" John lifted her up so she could settle in his arms. It was her favorite place to sleep.

John settled down again in his chair beside Sherlock's bed to watch him sleep some more. The damage done to Sherlock's body said that he had been tortured at some point over a month ago and the wounds never fully healed. There were knife marks, burn marks, marks from where he had been beaten... and that was just Sherlock's torso. There was more on his legs, arms and feet, plus the beating his face took. John could see where he had been strangled recently, most likely in the hospital. The marks around his neck were still dark purple. 

The whole thing made John angry. He could have been there to help Sherlock with all of this, maybe then none of it would have happened. But instead he had been sent away, dropped aside like used rubbish. John knew there was nothing he could do about it now. Sighing, he sagged down in the chair, letting his eyes close for some much needed rest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John woke to the bedroom door opening and Mycroft walking in. 

"Good morning, John. Any change?" He came to stand beside the bed, looking down at Sherlock sleeping. 

"Mycroft. No, not yet, just waiting for the fever to break. How long has he had it?" John straightened, sitting up in the chair. 

"It came on suddenly yesterday morning. I believe some of his wounds are infected." Mycroft quietly brushed a hand over Sherlock's arm. 

"They were. I managed to get them clean and bandage everything properly." John stood to stretch before leaning over to check Sherlock's temp. "It's going down. Maybe by this evening it will break. Tea?" John asked, moving towards the door. 

"Yes, thank you." Mycroft followed him down to the kitchen where John started the kettle. "I know you have every right to be angry, John, but thank you for still helping him." 

John could only nod as he pulled two cups from the cupboard and dug the tea out of the drawer. His anger was floating right at the top, if he let it out now... well it was too early in the morning to start a fight and frankly he didn't want to have to explain why he was so angry. It wasn't Mycroft or Sherlock's fault that he was in love with a man that cared nothing for him. Sherlock had said from the beginning that he was married to his work, but John went ahead and fell in love anyway. 

John turned with the cups of tea to find Mycroft staring at him intently.  _ Oh bloody hell _ . Mycroft was probably reading it all off him right now.  _ Yup, there was the look of pity. _ It made his stomach turn. 

"Shut it, Mycroft," John growled, taking a sip of his tea. 

"I had thought maybe things had changed..." Mycroft commented, taking his own cup. 

"Yeah, well." John shrugged, not finishing his sentence, instead he started rummaging for breakfast. "Are you hungry?" he asked, coming up with eggs and bacon from the fridge. 

"No, thank you. I am afraid that I am leaving this morning for London. There is much I have to take care of." Mycroft finished his tea, setting the cup down.

"What about him?" John nodded towards the upstairs. "He can't travel yet." 

"In that we agree. I'm sure he will be in the best care here. If you are in need of anything, please just let me know." Mycroft hesitated. "I know things were not handled well after you were found and part of that is my fault. But I hope that... well. That you will give him a chance to explain." With that Mycroft nodded and walked out the door to his waiting car. 

John watched him go, unsure of what just happened.  _ What did Mycroft even mean?  _ Either way it seemed that Sherlock was going to be here a while. John wondered if Sherlock knew where he was. Did they talk about it before driving up here or did Sherlock fall to his fever and Mycroft decided to bring him all the way to Scotland? 

Guess he would find out soon enough. John went back to making his breakfast and fed Ms Daisy as well. After, he checked on Sherlock again, making sure his IV was still set up. Thanks to his practice in town, John was able to get everything he needed to care for Sherlock. He could only hope the man appreciated everything John went through before he ducked out in the middle of the night like last time. 

John decided to spend his day sitting near Sherlock reading his book. It was lightly raining outside so no work could be done in the garden and he was happy to just relax with his book for a while with Daisy curled up on his lap. At some point he must have dozed off, as he woke to Sherlock yelling out. John dropped his book, standing up so fast that Daisy fell to the floor, giving him an unhappy look before running from the room. 

John moved to sit next to Sherlock on the bed, trying to calm his fit. "Sherlock, you are okay. You are safe. No one is going to hurt you. I'm here to take care of you." 

"John?" The desperate, sad sound of his name leaving Sherlock's lips broke John's heart. 

"Yes, Sherlock. I'm here," John hushed, reaching out to hold Sherlock's hand as it flailed around to find him. "I'm here. It's okay. You are okay." 

Sherlock whimpered before slipping back to sleep. John checked his temp to find the fever had broken. _ Finally _ . He fixed the covers around Sherlock then turned to leave the bed, only to have Sherlock not let go of his hand. Sighing, John shifted so he could sit against the headboard and still hold Sherlock's hand. Unable to reach his book, he settled for reading on his phone for a while instead. 

Daisy made her way back to the room later, forgiving him for interrupting her nap. She curled up by his side, purring softly as he pet her gently. 

The next time Sherlock woke, John was downstairs cleaning up dinner dishes. The yell sent him running up the stairs, where he found Sherlock sitting up on the bed, wide-eyed and fearful. 

"Hey, you’re okay, Sherlock." John put his arms out as he would to calm a wild animal. "No one is going to hurt you." 


	7. The talk. Well... a bit.

**Chapter 7**

"John?" Sherlock's voice cracked from disuse. His eyes were wide, looking around the room frantically. 

"I'm here, Sherlock. It's okay. You're safe. No one else is here." John moved slowly towards the bed, stopping just at the edge, his heart breaking at the fear in Sherlock's eyes. 

"Where’s Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, collapsing back in the bed as his strength gave out. 

"He had to return to London this morning. I can call him for you." John made a move towards his phone on the nightstand when a hand grabbed his arm. 

"No. Not right now." Sherlock laid back again, still holding John's arm. 

"Are you hungry?" John asked, putting his phone away and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His hand pressed to Sherlock's wrist, feeling the beats of his heart. 

Sherlock was quietly watching him from where he lay. "I'm not sure..." he whispered, his eyes not leaving John's face.

"Let me fix you something. I will be right back." John stood to leave, only to have Sherlock not let go of his arm. 

"You- You'll be back?" Sherlock looked worried. John wondered if it had to do with Sherlock leaving John alone in the safe house all those months ago. 

"Yes," John soothed. "I will be right back. Just rest." With that Sherlock released his arm and John made his way down stairs. He started the kettle and broth while he texted Mycroft that Sherlock was awake. 

Next thing, his phone started to ring with an incoming call from Mycroft. 

"Hello?" John answered. 

"Has he said anything?" Mycroft asked without even saying hello. 

"Not really. Is there something in particular you are hoping for?" John asked sharply, while pouring the broth into a bowl and fixing Sherlock's tea just how he liked it. 

"No. Sorry. It's just, we are having trouble finding the culprit from the hospital attack. I was hoping Sherlock might remember something. How is he?" Mycroft asked. 

John sighed. "Not sure yet. He is awake though and the fever has broken, so those are good signs," he said as he finished putting together a tray for Sherlock. "I'm going to see if I can get some food in him now. I will keep you posted if anything changes, yeah?" 

"Yes, thank you, Dr Watson." 

"You owe me, Mycroft." With that John hung up the phone. Picking up the tray, he returned to Sherlock's room. There he found the lady of the house purring softly, nuzzled up to Sherlock's side. He was petting her gently with his eyes closed, opening them only a bit as John entered the room. 

"Hey, I see you have met Daisy. If she gets to be a bit much just say and I’ll remove her. I have a little broth and tea for you to try. Let me help you sit up a bit." John set down the tray, leaning over the bed to help Sherlock sit up enough to place some pillows behind him. "How are you feeling? Anything hurt or feel weird?" 

"I'm-" Sherlock started before wincing in pain. 

"If you are going to say fine, even though it hurts, that won't help you, Sherlock. I need you to tell me the truth or I can't help you," John cut in as he set the tray in front of Sherlock. 

Sherlock looked down at the tray before meeting John's eyes. "Everything hurts." 

"Alright, that I can do something about." John stood, moving around the bed to where he kept the pain meds. He injected some into Sherlock's IV line. "That should start working quickly. Anything else?" 

"You have a cat," Sherlock stated, picking up the spoon. 

"Yes, I do. And a house with a small garden out back. What of it?" John took his seat next to the bed, where Daisy quickly found his lap to settle in. 

"Nothing, I just never..." Sherlock took a sip of his broth. 

"You never what? Thought I would get a cat or move to Scotland? There's a lot that has changed since you decided you didn't need me anymore, Sherlock. If you don't want to be here, I'm sure Mycroft will come pick you up." John huffed, standing with Daisy in his arms. "Maybe I should leave you to eat." John walked from the room, heading for his back porch. 

Settling on his chair, he pulled the packet of cigarettes out of their hiding place. He had promised himself that he was quitting, but bloody hell he could use one right now. Lighting up, he looked down at Daisy who was giving him a look. "Yeah, I know, but it's just one." He released the smoke from his lungs slowly. "Don't judge me, being around him makes me like this." John scrubbed his free hand over his face. 

Daisy meowed before turning to walk back inside. 

"Yeah, sure, you leave me too. It's easy, I hear. Everyone is doing it," John muttered to himself. 

"Everyone is doing what?" Sherlock asked from the door, where he was leaning heavily. 

"What the bloody hell are you doing out of bed?!" John jumped up, moving over to take Sherlock's arm, helping him to a chair. "Tell me you didn't yank out your IV?" Though he already knew the answer, he asked anyway. 

"You were angry and didn't come back," Sherlock said softly, not looking at John. 

"Yeah, well I needed a minute. That doesn't mean rip out your IV and start walking around the house, you berk," John growled, throwing his cigarette away. "You are supposed to be resting." 

Sherlock looked around the garden instead of at him. "Those will kill you, you know." 

John had a flashback of his mind Sherlock telling him the same thing in Poland. "Yeah, but who really cares if they do or not," he huffed. 

"I care," Sherlock whispered softly, still not looking at him.

John's breath caught in his throat. He was at a loss for words.  _ What was he supposed to say to that? _ "Yeah, well. Doesn't matter, does it? We need to get you back upstairs." John helped Sherlock stand, putting his arm around the man and helping him back up the stairs and into bed. 

All while trying not to think about the man pressed against him. The warmth of his body, the curve of his hip, how thin his waist was where John held on. 

_ No, he was decidedly not thinking about all of that.  _

"Please don't leave..." Sherlock asked once John had laid him down and moved with the tray towards the door.

"I will be back," he threw over his shoulder as he hurried to the kitchen.  _ Damn, damn, damn. Now what?  _

He paced the kitchen a couple of times before he couldn't help the pull towards Sherlock. Even if the man broke his heart all over again, it would be worth every moment he got to spend with him. If he could survive last time, he could do it again. 

After making two cups of tea, John returned to Sherlock's room, finding him watching the door like John wasn't coming back. "Tea?" John asked, handing Sherlock a cup. Then he sat back in his chair. 

"Thank you, John." Sherlock sat propped up on the headboard, sipping his tea. "I know you have questions." 

"Not now, Sherlock," John replied quietly. "Just drink your tea and rest. Maybe a different day." 

"Why?" 

"Why what?" John questioned. 

"Why are you not angry or yelling or throwing me out of the house?" 

"Do you want me to do all of that?" John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "I am angry, but not like I was. I have accepted that you no longer need me and that I wouldn't have been any help to you in Serbia. Got myself captured, didn't I." John huffed a laugh that lacked humor. 

"John, That's not-" 

"I really don't want to talk about it right now, or maybe ever with you. Let's rest and we will see what tomorrow brings." John finished his tea quietly. Sherlock didn't try to talk about it for the rest of the evening. As he dropped back to sleep, John cleaned up the cups and made his way to his own room. 

Collapsing on his own bed with a sigh, John settled in, not bothering with changing at this point. He fell asleep faster than he had in a long time and for the first time in a while his mind Sherlock came to visit. He was just as gentle as John remembered. Appearing on the bed next to him, stroking a hand through John's hair. 

_ "You've been smoking again."  _

"Yeah, sorry. Stress," John whispered in his drowsy state. 

_ "Sleep, I will watch over you," Sherlock replied softly.  _

"I've missed you," John said before letting sleep take him. 

_ "And I you."  _


	8. Even me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the unofficial angst queen for nothing. So sorry.

**Chapter 8**

The next few days went on with John and Sherlock moving carefully around each other. Sherlock was resting and healing while John cooked, worked in his garden and made sure Sherlock took his meds when needed. Sherlock was moving better and had started to spend time on the porch in John's chair, watching John tend to his flowers and herbs. Sometimes Sherlock would take a walk around the yard with Daisy in his arms and they would study the bees that visited John's flowers. 

John loved sitting in his chair with a cup of tea, watching them wander around together. Once he had joined them but they got distracted and John found he loved to watch instead. Evenings were spent on the sofa with Daisy curled up between them. John would watch late night telly and Sherlock would read or huff at the telly. It was all very domestic. So far they had managed to skirt around the unanswered questions. 

Like why had Sherlock left him at the safe house or what happened to him after he left John or why John was way out in southern Scotland instead of London. They just left those for another day. John didn't ask and Sherlock didn't say. Soon a week had passed of this simple time between them and John had quite enjoyed it. Then the doorbell rang. John looked to Sherlock where he was reading with Daisy on his lap and his toes tucked under John's thigh, but he only shrugged.

"Wonder who that could be?" John pondered, standing and walking to the door. He opened it half expecting to find Mycroft or one of his minions. Instead it was Jacob. 

"Oh, uhm, hey." John looked behind him, wondering if Sherlock could see who was at the door. "What are you doing here?" 

"Hey, sorry for the unexpected drop by but you said to call you on the tenth and here we are. Well I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by instead." Jacob smiled. 

John couldn't put a finger on it but there was something different about Jacob's smile. It wasn't as soft or easy going as he remembered. "Uhm, yeah sorry, but I still have guests. So..." 

"Ah yes, your family is visiting." Jacob moved closer. "I would love to say hello," he said, flashing his smile again. 

John felt his gut scream that there was something off with this man. He glanced behind him to see Sherlock was no longer on the sofa but standing by the stairs on his phone, John's gun in hand.

"Sherlock? What-" John didn't get to finish his sentence as Jacob pushed him back, going for his own gun. John lashed out as he fell, taking Jacob's feet out from under him as he did. They both landed in a heap on the floor, John scrambled for the gun that Jacob dropped as they went down. Sherlock appeared somewhere near him, hauling Jacob to his feet, still on the phone with Mycroft it sounded like. 

"John! Are you all right?" Sherlock asked as he tied Jacob's hands behind him. 

"Yeah, I'm okay. What the bloody hell was all of that?" John stood, dusting off his clothes, looking towards Sherlock. 

"That was the last person we have been searching for. Finally made your move." Sherlock was talking to Jacob now, his phone gone. 

"Yeah," he sneered. "I would have had you too, if not for this bumbling idiot." He nodded his head towards John. 

Sherlock scoffed. "I highly doubt that. That idiot could have taken you with his eyes closed. Now you will be dealt with. Hope you are looking forward to a cold nameless prison somewhere." 

John couldn't help the feeling of pride that Sherlock would think that. "So now what?" he asked. 

"Now, Mycroft's people take him away." 

"How long will it take them to get here?" John knew the drive from London was a long one. 

"About three minutes since they are at a neighboring cottage." Sherlock moved to open the front door. 

"Wait, what?" John couldn't believe this was the first time he was hearing about this. "Have they been here the whole time?" 

"Yes," Sherlock stated as they arrived and he handed over Jacob with barely a word. 

Once they were gone, John could only stare in disbelief. "So when were you going to tell me?" 

Sherlock at least had the decency to look apologetic when he turned to face John. "I'm sorry, John. Mycroft had informed me last week that he left a team here just in case." 

John shook his head. "And you weren't going to tell me were you?" He took a deep breath. "So now that you have caught him, when do you leave?" John tried not to think about it. He had tried not to for the last week, but he knew it was inevitable. Sherlock's life was not here with John, but back in London solving crimes and being brilliant. 

"I don't- It's just that I will have to-" Sherlock started. 

"I get it. Just don't duck out in the middle of the night this time. Do me the courtesy of saying goodbye first, yeah?'' With that, John turned for the stairs, his head hanging down a bit. "I think I will turn in for the night. If you are here in the morning, I guess I will see you then." 

Sherlock remained quiet as John left the room and for that he was thankful. He didn't think he could handle Sherlock telling him that he couldn’t wait to get out of here and back to London. John entered his room, closing the door behind him. He went through his evening ritual quietly and slid into bed. As he lay there, he could feel the tears filling his eyes. Soon he would be alone again. Just him and Daisy. He was never going to trust another living soul with his happiness.  _ Look how Jacob turned out. Should have known that Jacob was just using him, isn't that what everyone did? Used John until they didn't need him anymore? _

_ "Even me?" Sherlock popped up in front of him, laying close, his belstaff spread out on the bed.  _

"No, not you." John sniffed, wiping back the tears. "You are always here for me. I love you, my Sherlock." John closed his eyes as his Sherlock smiled softly at him. If only the real Sherlock cared this much about him.


	9. Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you too all who joined me on this journey. I am so thankful for all the lovely comments I received during the posting every other day. I hope you all love this final chapter. <3 Part of me isn't ready for the story to be over, but its on to the next I guess. Enjoy! <3

**Chapter 9**

When John woke the next morning, he wasn't alone. Not only was Daisy curled up next to him but Sherlock was also in his bed. John let out a small gasp at the sight. Sherlock was facing away from him, pressed to John's front. He seemed to still be sleeping. John couldn't figure out when or why Sherlock came to be in his bed. Last night, he had drifted off to visions of Sherlock from his mind lying with him and somehow woke to the real thing. 

John held still, not wanting to wake the man. Having Sherlock here laying next to him wasn't going to help him get over his crush. Part of him said to get up and move away before it was too late. The other part said,  _ I wonder if his hair is as soft as it looks? _ John sighed, giving in to the second voice as he reached a hand up to gently brush through Sherlock's hair. It was still shorter than normal but back to the dark brown, almost black, color that was more Sherlock's natural color. It was as soft as he thought it would be. 

As he dared another touch, he felt Sherlock move against him. Just a small shift but enough to snap John out of his hair touching. Berating himself, John moved to get out of bed. 

"Don't...please," came a plea from the man John thought had been sleeping. 

Unable to say no, John stayed where he was as Sherlock rolled over to face him. He looked so unsure of John's response to him being there. 

"Good morning, John." Sherlock reached out to slide his fingers down the side of John's face. 

It was like a jolt of lighting had hit him. His skin tingled under Sherlock's touch. He couldn't move, he was frozen watching Sherlock watch him. "Sherlock?" he whispered as Sherlock's hand grazed his jaw. 

"Yes, John?" Sherlock whispered back, timidly. 

"Why- I mean- It's just-" John couldn't get his thoughts to form enough to make sense as they tumbled out of his mouth. 

"Articulate as always, John." Sherlock smiled as he leaned forward, his eyes on John's lips. 

John realized a half second before Sherlock landed where he was headed. As their lips met in a soft, dry, chaste kiss, John's eyes were blown wide open as he stared at the man in front of him. Sherlock pulled back, opening his eyes to see John staring. 

"Not good?" he asked, pulling away from John. There was panic rising in Sherlock's eyes. John wanted to sooth it away but also he didn't know why Sherlock was kissing him. They had never been this close before and even though John was harboring a huge crush for the man, Sherlock had never expressed anything more than casual friendship towards him. 

"I just, can I ask why, Sherlock?" John held on to Sherlock's arm, preventing him from getting up. 

Sherlock looked down before meeting John's eyes. "Last night I couldn't sleep so I was going downstairs when I passed your room and you were sleeping so peacefully. So I stepped in to watch you. Then you..." Sherlock paused. 

"Then I, what, Sherlock?" John nudged. 

"You were calling for me. You said you missed me and that you loved me." Sherlock looked away at this point, staring at his fingernails. "Was I wrong?" 

John thought back to last night and his conversation with Sherlock in his mind. He had said that to his Sherlock last night, when he was practically sleeping. 

"In a way, no, you're not wrong." John looked down, embarrassed to say what he had been doing. 

"What, John?" Sherlock coaxed him, reaching his hand down to hold John's. 

"I was talking to you, but not you. I have seen you in my mind since the day I first thought about taking my own life. That Sherlock has been with me ever since. I know it's weird, please don't make fun of me over it. I don't think I could handle that," John whispered, softly. 

"Why would I make fun of you, John, when I carried you with me in my mind from the moment I jumped?" Sherlock whispered back, squeezing John's hand. 

John looked up at him in surprise. "You did? But why? You didn't need me? You made that very clear at the safe house." 

"I regret my actions that day more than anything. I never should have left you during the night, but I knew that if I didn't, I would never leave you and I had to. You were so weak and I had a mission to finish so I could return to you. Mycroft was never supposed to let you into the field. He was supposed to watch over you and keep you safe. I was so angry at him over that," Sherlock growled. 

"Mycroft gave me a mission because it was that or I would end up putting a bullet in my brain. I did it for you, only to find out you were alive and didn't want me." 

"That's not true. I will always want you, John." Sherlock moved closer as if trying to make his point stronger. 

"Yeah, but not the same way I want you," John said quietly. "I don't just want to be there because you have no one else at the moment. I want you to want me because there is no one else you could ever want as much."

"But I do," Sherlock said quickly. "There has never been anyone like you, John, and no one could ever replace you in my life. What can I do to show you that?" Sherlock's face was full of worry and it made John sad to know that he had done that to Sherlock. 

John looked down at their clasped hands then back up to Sherlock's face. "Do you really mean that? I thought that after the jump and after the safe house that you had no need for me. I worried every second that something would happen to you over there, something I could have prevented if you have just let me stay with you." John reached his free hand between them to touch Sherlock's face. "I couldn't just sit in Baker Street and wait for you to maybe come back, and if you did come back then asked me to leave and I couldn't bear that either. So I left before you could ask me to." 

"John, I would never ask you to leave Baker Street. It wouldn't be the same without you there," Sherlock whispered against his palm before placing a kiss on John's wrist. 

"So now what?" John asked hopefully. 

"Now we do whatever we want," Sherlock replied. 

"I'm not sure I want to go back to London," John said after a moment of quiet. "Too many memories around each corner." 

"I understand. You have made a home out here with Daisy and your cottage." Sherlock smiled softly. "London won't be the same without you." 

"You're going back?" John had hoped that Sherlock would stay out here with him, but how could his brilliant mind be happy in a place where the biggest crime was someone nicking Mrs MacGregor's pie from her window a month ago? A neighbor boy had returned the pie plate and told her it was the most delicious thing he had tasted all year. No, things would be too dull for the genius mind of Sherlock Holmes. 

"Is there a reason for me to stay?" Sherlock questioned, his eyes searching John's. 

The first thing that came to John's mind was also the first thing his mouth helpfully said out loud as well. "Only me." 

"I think that's enough to be going on with, don't you?" Sherlock smiled as he leaned in to kiss John. 

John giggled between kisses. "Yes, I think so." 

This was it. This was their moment, their time together. There were still many things to work through and there would be days when John would still be angry at Sherlock for jumping and leaving him, but they would work through those days together. John could see the next years in his mind. Afternoons in the garden with Daisy and Sherlock working on hives for the bees. Evenings by the fire, reading or watching telly. Sherlock tucked next to John on the sofa with Daisy curled up on one of them. It would be a calm, wonderful time for them to grow together and bask in their love for each other. 

John was looking forward to these days more than anything. No more alone, no more fighting, hiding, killing, just the two of them against the rest of the world. It would be the best of times. 

The End. 


End file.
